


Sanguis Hominum

by ariannon



Series: Bloodlines [3]
Category: The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Alternate History, Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:21:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24177337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariannon/pseuds/ariannon
Summary: All hell breaks loose. Whitehawk has lost the cup, his first lieutenant, and the element of surprise but he is far from giving up. Instead, he's opened a demon rift in the heart of New York City, straining the shadowhunters' resources to their limit. With the accords interrupted in the middle of proceedings, relations between the downworlders and shadowhunters are more tense than ever and Clary's about to face fighting on all sides...
Relationships: (Secondary) Alec Lightwood/Simon Lewis, Clary Fray/Jace Wayland
Series: Bloodlines [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/477709
Comments: 7
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ... and we're back!!! I am still writing but with all the COVID craziness I can't make any promises about regular updates or when the next chapter will be finished. Hope you enjoy! :)

As Simon and I stepped inside, several shadowhunters had already gathered around the windows, looking to see what had happened. I didn't have to look. The ugly scar across the sky was still etched into my brain. I held Simon's arm and moved to put my back against a wall as far from the windows and door as I could get but even from across the room I could see the eerie red glow pressing in from the street.

An uneasy tension was building in the room as the shadowhunters murmured quietly to one another and exchanged grim looks. Part of me wanted to grab someone and shake them and demand to know what was going on but I knew any answer they could give would to nothing to quell the fear tightening around my chest.

Maryse appeared in the room bare moments after Simon and I, with Hodge following close behind. Her expression was sombre and her voice, when she spoke was cool and hard as stone. “We have demons incoming,” she said bluntly. “We probably have twenty minutes – maybe a bit more if we're lucky. Glyphs on and gear up. I want everyone armed and ready to fight in ten.”

She had barely finished speaking before the tension in the room abruptly dissolved into rapid motion. It was a frenzy of preparation, but in place of chaos there was only quick, determined efficiency.

As people cleared out of the room and set about their tasks, one older woman drew up short by Maryse and looked up at her grimly. “You know what this is,” she said, her voice quiet and angry. “We don't have the people to fight this.”

Maryse met her gaze evenly. “We have no other option,” she replied, her tone as blunt as her words.

The silence stretched between them for moment. Then the woman simply nodded once and walked away.

Maryse watched her go, and as she did I thought I could see her shrink ever so slightly as though the wind had gone out of her.

“She's right,” Hodge said, quietly. “Even if we didn't have wounded to worry about, the numbers wouldn't be on our side.”

“We'll get reinforcements when there are reinforcements available,” Maryse replied, not turning her head. “There's nothing else we can do until then. For now, we just need to make it through tonight.”

She took a deep, shuddering breath, then straightened, her shoulders square and her face blank. “Post a perimeter. I want at least one person at every entry point and a buffer into the street.” She started to walk away, then stopped with a grimace. “And if anyone in the infirmary can stand and fight, give them a weapon and get them up to the main floor.”

They left, and suddenly Simon and I were alone in a very quiet room.

“Clary, you're hurting my arm.” Simon sounded strangely detached, and it took me a moment to understand what he meant.

I started and let go of him abruptly. “Sorry,” I said, looking up at him.

He looked drawn and pale. I wasn't even sure if he'd heard me.

I swallowed. “What do you think is coming?”

“You heard Maryse,” he replied, still staring bleakly at the window on the other side of the room. “Lots and lots of demons.”

I shook my head. “We're not even supposed to be here,” I muttered. “I'm sorry, Simon.”

He shook his head slightly but didn't answer. “Where do you think it is?”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

“The thing in the sky,” he said. “Where in the city do you think it is? If you had to guess?”

“I don't know.”

He was quiet for a moment, then, “I'm just trying to figure out how close it is to my parents' house.”

I opened my mouth to speak but couldn't think of anything comforting to say. Before either of us could say anything, Isabelle stepped into the room and then came to an abrupt halt, looking at the two of us with and expression somewhere between surprise and guilt.

“Clary! Simon,” she said. “You probably shouldn't stay there. Um...” She glanced around, thinking, then said, “Come on. I'll take you down to the infirmary. You should be safer there.”

I noticed that she had said 'safer' and not 'safe', which was not entirely reassuring, but since I didn't want to stay out here in the open either, I wasn't about to complain. She led us down into the basement, past the armoury, to where the infirmary had been set up in a large room opposite the training area. It was filled with an array of first aid equipment and a row of ten cots, three of which were occupied.

She exchanged a few short words with the medic who seemed to be in charge of the room. He nodded but after she hurried away he gave Simon and me a look that said very clearly if we wanted to stay here we had better stay out of the way. I hardly needed to be convinced so I started making my way to one of the empty cots, farthest from the door.

After a few steps, Simon caught my arm. “Hang on,” he said. “It's Jace.”

I looked down at the cot where we'd stopped and felt my stomach twist when I saw the familiar figure sleeping there. They'd washed the blood off his face and given him what looked like pyjamas in place of his stained and torn clothes, but no amount of scrubbing would wash away the bruises darkening on his throat or the swollen glyphs that looked as though they had been branded onto his arms.

“Here,” Simon said. There weren't any chairs nearby but the adjacent cot was empty so we sat there. I figured that should be out of the way enough, unless they took more casualties. Until they took more casualties.

After a few seconds of silence Simon said, “He looks like shit.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, although he still looked better than he had when we'd picked him and my mother up from the alley a few hours before. I wondered where she was now – if there had been anyone to stitch her up or if she was still slowly bleeding out from the bullet wound in her shoulder.

“You know I was never totally sure he actually could sleep?”

“He doesn't sleep much,” I replied, almost absently. My eyes drifted to his wrist but there was no sleep glyph there. In his current condition, I suspected it would have done more harm than good. “They must have him sedated.”

“I think I like him better asleep,” Simon said, with forced good humour. “More peaceful, you know?”

My lips tightened. He didn't look peaceful. He just looked small.

After a moment, Simon took my hand and squeezed it. “He'll be okay.”

I smiled back at him, with more confidence than I actually felt. “We're all gonna be okay,” I replied.

Almost in answer to my words, I heard a faint shout from the main floor followed by the indistinct sound of gunshots. The fighting had started.

We sat quietly for a few minutes, staring at the floor or the walls or the door and not speaking. Every noise that echoed down from the floor above us seemed to fall like another weight in the room, pressing down on us. My heart was pounding hard against my chest and even the effort of sitting still and staying upright exhausted my muscles.

“You know, I was terrified of thunderstorms when I was little,” I said finally. “I guess most kids probably are. My mom used to sit with me and count the seconds between the lightning and the thunder and tell me how far away it was.” I flinched at the sudden noise of shattering glass directly above us, and glanced uncertainly at the ceiling. “This storm feels awfully close.”

Simon gave me a sympathetic look but didn't say anything. Another minute or two passed and then he said, “What do they look like?”

“Hm?”

“The demons,” he said. “You know, in all of the rescuing people, fighting bad guys, arguing with vampires and werewolves, making deals with... whatever the hell Magnus is, I don't think I've ever actually seen one.”

“Oh. Um...” I frowned, thinking. “There's different kinds – but I think they can look human if they want to.” I found myself looking down at the scar on my arm where the ravener had sunk it's teeth into me, right after my mother went missing.

“Tell me.”

“Are you sure?”

Simon nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “I want to know.”

I did my best to describe them as far as I could remember. It wasn't exactly a comforting topic of conversation but it was less grating than silence. I couldn't tell if hearing about the demons actually made Simon feel any better but talking about them made me feel more in control somehow.

At least until one of Maryse's shadowhunters came bursting into the infirmary, carrying a wounded woman in his arms and yelling for the medic. Her face looked as though it had been slammed into the wall and she was bleeding badly though I couldn't tell from where. The man was bleeding, too, from what looked like a deep bite in his arm, but as soon as the woman had been handed over to the medics he was back out the door and into the fray.

For just a moment, I was afraid I was going to be sick. I felt like I ought to help but didn't know what I could do. I had a sneaking suspicion all I could manage would be to get in the way.

“What's going on?”

The words were strained and quiet and it took me a moment to realize it was Jace who had spoken, peering blearily at me from his cot. Whatever they had given him must have started to wear off, since he was definitely awake and struggling to sit up.

I moved to help him but he shook me off. “What's happening?” he repeated, more insistently.

“Nothing,” I said quickly, but almost as I spoke the woman gave out a pained moan from the other end of the room, belying my words.

Jace glanced sharply towards her, then turned back to me with a defiant look, made all the more intense by his one red eye. When I didn't answer he turned his attention to Simon. “Tell me,” he demanded.

Simon sighed. “Demons,” he said after a moment. “We're under attack.”

“Fuck,” Jace growled. He started glancing anxiously around the bed. “Where's my stele? My knife?”

I shot a panicked looked at Simon as Jace swung his legs over the side of the cot and climbed to his feet. “Jace, you're hurt!” I said, reaching for his arm. “You have to stay here.”

“I'm fine,” he snapped. “I can fight.”

I still wasn't entirely convinced he'd be able to make it up the stairs without help, but had already started toward the door. “For fuck's sake,” I muttered. He wasn't even wearing shoes...

I stood and started to chase after him, then stopped and looked back at Simon. “Stay here,” I said firmly. “Promise me.”

He nodded once, and I hurried to follow Jace out the door.

I found him in the armoury, searching the shelves for a weapon. As he turned away from the shelf with a knife in hand I stopped in the doorway, blocking his path.

“Put it away,” I said, with as much authority as I could muster. “Put it away, and come back with me to the infirmary.”

He scoffed. “You think I'm just going to sit there and wait like a fucking civilian?” he said. “Let me through.”

I stared at him, disbelieving. “You're hurt!”

“I'm fine,” he growled, though it seemed to me that his eyes were struggling to focus.

“You're not fine!” I yelled. I wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him except that, in his current state, I wasn't sure he could take it. “If you go out there now, you're going to get yourself killed.”

“Get out of my way, Clary,” he snapped.

I glowered at him stubbornly and didn't move.

He glared back, and after a moment he simply shoved past me with enough force that I nearly lost my feet.

“Damn it, Jace,” I hissed, staring after him. Then I stepped into the armoury and started rifling hurriedly through the gun locker for a pistol I could use. As soon as I found one I ducked back out the door and went sprinting up the stairs, swearing under my breath. Jace was faster than me to begin with, and he had a head start; it would be sheer dumb luck if I caught up to him before anything else did...

When I reached the top of the stairs, I turned to see Jace at the far end of the hall. I had barely taken two steps toward him when something leapt at him with claws outstretched. He spun, swinging his knife towards it, but his glyphs were faded and he was injured and he had moved too late.

The demon slammed into his chest, its jaws tearing into his neck.

I raised the pistol. It was a little heavier than my nine-millimetre and the first round missed the demon and buried itself in the far wall, but the noise caught the creatures attention and it released Jace to turn its dripping jaws in my direction. The second round glanced off its shoulder as it barrelled toward me, closing the distance. I braced my shoulders and fired again.

The third round caught it squarely in the chest, and it stumbled and skidded along the wooden floor, leaving a long smear of black blood before crumpling in on itself.

I swallowed, trying to ignore the deafening pounding in my ears, and ran to Jace.

The flesh where his neck met his shoulder was gnawed and torn and there were ugly gashes across his stomach where the demon's claws had raked him. He wasn't moving.

I crouched beside him, my throat tight. “Jace?”

His head moved slightly, and his eyes flickered open and focused on me for a moment before drifting closed again.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone running toward us through the open front door. By the time I registered the pale, mottled skin and the eyeless face, the thing was within arms' reach. I jerked the pistol up and fired twice. There hadn't been time to aim, but at point blank range, it didn't make any difference.

I stared dumbly as the demon fell to the floor in front of me, and waited, unable to tear my eyes away until it had crumpled into nothing.

My skin burned with adrenaline and when I looked down I could see my hands shaking.

And Jace, lying still in a slowly growing pool of blood.

I wanted to yell for help, but by the looks of things everyone already had their hands full and this close to the open door, I was at least as likely to attract a demon as a shadowhunter. But it definitely wasn't safe here.

I wasn't strong enough to carry Jace and he certainly wasn't walking anywhere on his own, but after some rearranging I managed to grip him awkwardly around the chest and start to drag him towards the kitchen. He gave a faint pained groan as my grip tightened, which I tried to take as a good sign.

He felt impossibly heavy and it took an agonizingly long time to move him. By the time I felt my back hit the cabinet doors in the far corner of the kitchen, I was near tears and I just collapsed to the floor which Jace's head and shoulders propped awkwardly in my lap.

A loud crash from the living room made me jerk upright and I brought the pistol up to point at the kitchen doorway. We were safer here than out in the open but if the demons were in the house there was nothing to stop one from barging through that doorway at any second. Nothing but me and my gun and however many rounds of ammunition were left.

So I waited with my eyes pinned on the doorway and my gun raised and tried not to think about Jace's blood slowly seeping through my clothes.

My muscles were screaming in protest when someone appeared at last, and I recognized Maryse just in time to stop myself as my finger spasmed on the trigger.

“Clary!” she said, her voice and expression alarmed as she took in the gory scene. Then she turned to someone I couldn't see and yelled, “I need a medic in the kitchen now!”

The realization that help had arrived hit me like a tidal wave, and I abruptly found myself shaking with sobs as the gun slipped from my fingers and fell to the floor.

Maryse snatched a handful of tea towels from a kitchen drawer and hurried over to us.

“I tried to stop him,” I told her.

“You did everything right,” she assured me as she tucked one into the wound on his neck and gently placed my hand on top of it. “Push down there.”

“He didn't listen.”

“I know,” she said, meeting my eyes squarely as she pressed towels against the wounds on his abdomen. “It's not your fault. Are you hurt?”

I shook my head.

A moment later the shadowhunter medic hurried into the room with Hodge and someone I didn't know carrying a stretcher. I could hear them speaking but couldn't seem to form the noises into words and when they started to load him onto the stretcher Maryse had to carefully pry my hands away before I would release him. She pulled me tight against her and gently stroked my hair as I sobbed into her shoulder.

After a minute or two I felt like I could breath normally again and I pulled away feeling almost abashed. As she helped me to my feet, it finally occurred to me that she didn't look to be in great shape herself. There was a large bruise darkening along her jaw and another all down one arm. Her blouse was torn and a nasty scrape from something had left her neck and sternum raw and bleeding. But there was no sign of pain in her stance or expression, only sincere concern.

She poked her head out into the hall and called Isabelle over. “Can you make sure Clary gets a shower and some clean clothes,” she asked quietly.

The sight of someone I knew nearly started me sobbing again but I clenched my jaw and let Isabelle usher me upstairs. There were more tears in the shower, but by the time I had scrubbed away all the blood and demon goo I was starting to feel mostly human again. Isabelle had left me some sweats which were soft and comfortable even if they didn't quite fit.

The atmosphere downstairs was tense and exhausted as people set about clearing away broken glass and furniture, rehanging doors and taping up windows. Everyone was busy with something but it was impossible not to notice that there were fewer people walking around the house than there had been a few hours before.

Almost as soon as I stepped off the stairs someone I didn't recognize ushered me into the kitchen where Isabelle was dishing out bowls of soup and -

“Simon!” My throat tightened and I kicked myself internally for not going to check on him right away. I hurried to join him at the kitchen table. “Are you okay?”

He nodded and smiled weakly. “I mean, I've been better,” he said. “But I'm fine. None of the demons made it into the basement.”

“Oh, thank god,” I breathed, rubbing my face, and trying not to think about the fact that I had left him alone in the middle of a demon attack.

“Look, Clary, I've got to go home,” Simon said. “Don't worry, Alec's going to make sure I get there safe, I just... I need to make sure my family's okay.”

“Right,” I said dazedly. “I'm sorry.”

He shook his head, getting to his feet. “Don't worry about me,” he said gently and leaned in to kiss the top of my head. “I'll talk to you soon.”

I nodded. “Text me when you get home!” I called after him, before remembering Whitehawk still had my phone. Fuck.

Isabelle set a bowl of hot soup in front of me with stern instructions to eat. I managed a few spoonfuls but my eyes kept drifting against my will to the floor in the corner of the kitchen. Someone had cleaned away the blood but I could still see Jace lying there, dying, and I found I didn't have much of an appetite.

After a few more minutes I gave up and went down to the basement to check on Jace.

The door to the infirmary was closed but I could see through the wide window that most of the beds that had been empty when Simon and I first came down here were occupied with wounded shadowhunters. One was covered with a sheet.

Maryse was standing by the window, watching with crossed arms and a stony expression. She hadn't changed out of her torn and bloodstained blouse and the raw, red scrape across her neck still hadn't been bandaged. For the first time since I'd met her, she looked truly exhausted.

Biting my lip, I moved to stand beside her. There were three people gathered around Jace's cot. I couldn't see what they were doing but there seemed to be a lot of blood. “Is he okay?” I asked.

“They're still working on him,” she said quietly. “We'll know more when they finish.”

“He's tough,” I said, though I wasn't sure which one of us I was trying to reassure.

“I know.” Her voice sounded thin and strained.

I swallowed. “Have you had anything to eat? There's soup in the kitchen.”

She shook her head. The movement was minute but it seemed to set her whole body swaying ever so slightly, as though the only thing keeping her upright was sheer force of will.

I opened my mouth to speak, hesitated, then, “You should get some rest. I can stay here and come get you when -”

She shook her head again, never taking her eyes off of Jace. “He's my son,” she said simply. “It can wait.”


	2. Chapter 2

It was after four in the morning by the time they finished stitching Jace up and Maryse and I were allowed in to sit with him. He was still heavily sedated, with a thick gauze bandage taped to his neck and an IV in one arm attached to a fresh blood bag.

He looked dead. His skin was pale and grey where it wasn't red with welts and he was so utterly still... If it hadn't been for the steady rhythm on the the heartrate monitor I wouldn't have believed he was still breathing.

After half an hour, Hodge came down to the infirmary and pulled Maryse aside. They spoke in low tones for a minute or two, then she came back over to me with an unhappy expression. She didn't look much better than Jace, bruised and battered, her eyes sunken with exhaustion, but she stood square and straight as she said, “I have to go.”

She didn't say anything else but I could see the unspoken request in her eyes. “I'll stay with him,” I promised. “I'll let you know if... if anything changes.”

She gave a brief nod of thanks, and then she was gone.

I must have fallen asleep after that because the next time I opened my eyes, I was collapsed forward with my head resting awkwardly on the edge of Jace's cot. I sat up with a start, looking down quickly to reassure myself that he was still there. I immediately felt foolish for the irrational panic, but it took a few minutes for my pulse to return to normal.

Swallowing, I turned to check the monitors. His heart was beating steadily and his breathing was slow and even, but when I looked down at him he still showed no signs of movement. I tried to tell myself that was a good thing – after all the last time his sedation wore off he'd nearly gotten himself killed... but the thought did nothing to quell the knot of anxiety in my stomach.

The cot had left a terrible kink in my neck and my legs were stiff and sore from holding the same position for too long. I wanted to stand up and stretch out my aching muscles, maybe get some coffee, but I couldn't bring myself to take my eyes off Jace for that long. A small, foolish part of me felt certain that if I left him alone for one second he'd be dead by the time I got back.

I knew it was irrational. I knew that if something did go wrong, it wouldn't make any difference if I was there or not.

But I stayed where I was.

His skin was awfully pale, even though there was a new blood bag hanging beside him. He was so still and quiet that I sometimes thought the monitors must be malfunctioning. I knew the eerie stillness was an effect of the sedation but I couldn't quite silence the quiet voice in my head saying he should be awake by now.

I wanted to find one of the medics and ask if it was normal to wait this long, but I knew it was selfish. There were other people to look after and I was sure they had more important things to do than offer me banal reassurances. Besides, if something was wrong, surely they'd be doing something. Someone had replaced his IV while I slept, so it wasn't as though they had forgotten about him.

I felt painfully useless, just sitting there while Jace slept. It's not like I was helping anyone, and I didn't know if he would want me there. He hadn't seemed all that happy to see me the last time he woke up. I thought about leaving – there had to be something useful I could do, or maybe I could just get some sleep in an actual bed – but I'd told Maryse I would stay. And I didn't want him to wake up alone.

After a few minutes, I reached out hesitantly and took his hand, lacing my fingers through his. Even that small intimacy felt strange, but I needed the reassurance and he wasn't awake to complain.

Some time around two, when my vision was starting to go blurry from boredom and sleep deprivation, I felt Jace's hand tighten and I looked down at him with a start. His eyes drifted open and closed a few times and he slowly turned his head toward me.

“Hey,” I said softly, with a forced smile.

Jace seemed to consider sitting up but stopped himself with a grimace. His gaze flicked down and I quickly released his hand, suddenly self conscious.

“How do you feel?”

“Like shit,” he croaked. He flexed his fingers like they stung, then slowly reached up to feel the bandage on his neck.

“You got bitten by a demon,” I explained. I wasn't sure how much of it he had actually been awake for. “I killed it.”

His eyes closed heavily and he let out a long breath. “Too slow,” he murmured.

I frowned. “What?”

“Me,” he said. “I was too slow.”

My brow furrowed. “Of course you were,” I muttered. “You had no glyphs and you just woke up from the infirmary. What did you think was going to happen?”

His eyes opened again and he looked up at me with an expression that was at once defiant and vulnerable in a way that made me want to kick myself for my choice of words.

“I'm just saying,” I went on more gently. “You could have died.”

He looked away. “Shit happens.”

“Don't be an asshole,” I snapped, then stopped and took a slow deliberate breath. I was right, but I could wait to yell at him at least until he was strong enough to stand on his own. “You scared me,” I said, more calmly.

He looked back at me quizzically. “Why?”

“Because I care about you!” I replied in exasperation, then, realizing what I'd said I added, “And so does Alec, and Isabelle, and Maryse, and... lots of other people.”

He gave a half-hearted snort. “It's our job,” he muttered. “We all know the risks.” Then, frowning at me, he said, “So should you, by now.”

“That's beside the point,” I started, only to stop myself again. This wasn't the time to argue. “Maryse was here,” I told him. “I know she wanted to stay until you woke up -”

“Maryse has more important things to do than watch me sleep,” Jace muttered with a dismissive shake of the head.

I bit my lip, remembering the look on Maryse's face when she told me she had to leave, and the weight that seemed to hang over her as she walked away. But I couldn't tell him that she would have sat with him for the rest of the day if she could, or how she had stood for hours, hovering on the edge of collapse, waiting to find out if her son was going to die.

I'd spent so much of the past twenty-four hours worrying about him or just happy to see him alive that I'd almost forgotten how fucking impossible Jace was to talk to. All I'd wanted was to be here when he woke up and make sure he was okay, but it felt like I was only making things worse.

After a moment, I climbed to my feet, trying to ignore the cramping in my legs, and said, “I should probably let you rest.” I hesitated a moment, then, “Unless you want me to stay?”

“I'm not allowed to leave this bed,” Jace snapped. “I don't need a baby sitter. Besides,” He let his eyes drift closed, “I'm sure you have somewhere better to be.”

Right. I stood there for a long moment, feeling like I ought to say something else, then, with a sigh, I left.

I could hear voices from the training room down the hall but since I didn't really know anyone except Alec or Isabelle, I would probably only feel like an interloper there. Instead, I followed the alluring aroma of coffee wafting down the stairs from the main floor. I traced the scent to the kitchen, only to stop abruptly in the doorway when I saw an older man I didn't recognize standing at the stove. It seemed odd that a space that had felt easy and welcoming only days before could suddenly feel so unfamiliar.

“In or out, pick one.” The voice came from behind me, making me jump. “You're between me and coffee.”

I hurriedly stepped out of the doorway and into the kitchen, turning to see who had spoken.

A tall woman brushed past me on her way to the counter. She looked about thirty, with short-cropped, dark hair and an old scar across one cheek. As she fetched a mug down from the cupboard she glanced back over her shoulder and said, “Do you want a cup?”

“Sure,” I said, a little belatedly. “Thanks.”

She fetched another cup and filled it. “I'm Carmen, by the way,” she told me. Then as she handed it to me, “You're Whitehawk's kid , right?”

Her tone was nonchalant but the words hit me like a slap in the face and I stared at her blankly for a long moment with the cup half way to my lips. I knew what she meant, and I knew the answer she was expecting but I still didn't know quite how to respond because I'd never thought of myself that way.

“I suppose so,” I replied cautiously after a long, uneasy pause. “I mean, I only just met him. I didn't even know who he was until two weeks ago.”

“That's right,” she said, still in that same light-hearted tone. “You were raised civilian, weren't you.”

I found myself floundering again, at her word choice. 'Civilian,' as opposed to shadowhunter children who were raised as soldiers. Thankfully I was saved from answering when she jerked her head at the doorway and said, “Come on. Rollo doesn't like people in his kitchen when he's cooking.”

I glanced over at the man by the stove and then hurried to follow Carmen out of the room.

“What's he like?”

I had to jog to catch up with her. “What?”

“Whitehawk. Is he as crazy as he seems in all the reports?”

I frowned. “That's not the word I'd use,” I replied. “I mean, he's not deranged or anything, just... power hungry.”

“Huh,” she said, quirking an eyebrow. “I figured he'd be off his rocker from all the demon blood.”

I gave her an uneasy look out of the corner of my eye, then just took a sip out of my coffee and decided not to to open that particular can of worms.

When we reached the stairs to the basement, it occurred to me that I wasn't entirely sure where we were going. I had just followed her instinctively, and now it seemed like I was committed. She at least seemed to know where she was headed.

“So, you survived your first demon attack,” Carmen said. “Not bad for a mundane.”

“More or less,” I said slowly, deciding that 'mundane' was an even less comfortable descriptor than 'civilian'. “I've run up against demons before but never... like that.”

“There's nothing quite like a rift,” she agreed, and for the first time since she began her cheerful barrage of questions I thought I detected a note of weariness in her voice.

“Was it like this in China?” I asked hesitantly.

“Pretty much,” she replied, taking a long drink of coffee. “Except over there it was only demons. Here you've got Filii too.” Then, with a feral glint in her eye, she added, “Double the fun.”

I didn't know how to respond to that so I simply remained silent, feeling distinctly unsettled. I was careful keep my eyes straight ahead as we walked past the infirmary. I didn't want to see Jace, didn't want him to see me looking at him, though I couldn't quite articulate why. I wasn't angry with him – I had no reason to be – but thinking about him raised a niggling, dissatisfied feeling in my chest that I was not entirely comfortable with.

Caught up in not thinking about Jace, I didn't realize where Carmen was taking us until I stepped through the doorway into the training room. Hodge and Isabelle were working on some kind of knife training near the entrance while two other shadowhunters, about my age, were sparring a few mats further away.

“You're dropping your guard, Iz,” Carmen called without so much as a break in her stride. “Keep the knife up.”

“Don't bother my trainees,” Hodge shot back, taking advantage of Isabelle's momentary distraction to land a sharp blow that knocked her back a few paces. “But she's right,” he added to Isabelle as she steadied herself.

“You starting to miss things, old man?” Carmen asked cheerfully. “Eyesight not what it used to be?”

“I'm surprised you can see at all, with your head so far up your ass,” he replied in the same good-natured tone. “Are you here to train? Or just to heckle?”

“Just give me a minute to finish my coffee and get warmed up.”

As she walked away, I realized that the other two shadowhunters had stopped sparring to catch the exchange. The boy was sandy haired and smiling, the girl was blonde and wary, and both were looking at me. I gave an awkward half smile over the rim of my mug and leaned back against the wall, wishing I could disappear into it.

“It's Claire, isn't it?” asked the boy, grabbing his water bottle and coming over. “Maryse mentioned you'd be around.”

“Clary,” I corrected. “Clary Fray.”

“I'm Elliott. This is Laurel.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said with a small nod.

“Fray,” he said, frowning slightly. “That's not a shadowhunter name.”

I stifled a grimace. “No it's not,” I replied thinly.

“How's Jace?” Isabelle asked, rubbing her shoulder where Hodge had struck her. She tried to keep her tone light but I could hear the sharp edge of anxiety in her voice.

“He's fine” I told her. “I mean, he's alive. And awake, or he was a few minutes ago when he told me to leave.”

Her face lightened with relief and I was struck by how young it made her look. It was easy to forget sometimes that she was only seventeen. Only seventeen, but I was the civilian and she was the soldier.

“That sounds like him,” Elliott said. “From what Isabelle says, it sounds like you're the only reason he's not dead.”

“Not the only reason,” I replied quietly.

“Hey Elliott,” Carmen said suddenly, strolling over to us. “I think Laurel wants to spar. So how about you quit flirting and do some actual work.”

“I was just grabbing a drink!” he protested, but he did as he was told, shooting me a chagrined smile as he turned away.

“And Carmen,” Hodge called, “since you're so keen to help, why don't you walk Clary through the basics of knife combat.”

I froze where I was for a long moment, trying to parse what he'd said and hoping I'd somehow misheard. Carmen gave him a sour look but didn't argue. “Come on,” she said, fetching a pair of knives from the rack on the wall and leading me to a free mat near the middle of the room.

She flipped one of the knives easily in her hand and held it out to me hilt-first. As I took it from her, I realized it was only hardened rubber, not metal, which made me feel a little better. It would still probably hurt to get hit with it but it wouldn't break through skin.

She showed me how to hold it, the best grip to make sure I didn't drop it, or to preserve force, and then taught me three simple strikes. She was much more patient than I would have expected based on, well, everything about her. After a while the movements started to smoother, less forced. Altogether, it was probably much more effective then the last lesson in knife fighting I'd gotten in this room.

After about half an hour of repeating the same small set of attacks and parries, we rotated partners. Elliott with Hodge, Carmen with Laurel, and Isabelle with me. Sparring with Isabelle made it painfully clear that, while I had made progress on the few moves that Carmen has showed me, I was just nowhere near the level of the other people in this house. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't move fast enough to block her strikes and I could never quite seem to land any strikes of my own.

Eventually, Hodge announced that we'd done enough for the day and the whole gruelling process was finally over, leaving me drained, disheartened, and decidedly more bruised.

“Don't be too hard on yourself,” Isabelle said as I tried to rub away the faint welts on my forearm from the practice knife. “The glyphs make more difference than you think.”

“That and four years of knife training,” Laurel cut in, making me jump.

I hadn't even noticed her walk up.

Her expression was cool and reserved. “Have you ever even used a knife before?”

Before I could reply, Carmen said “Go easy, Laurel. You were useless once too.”

I grimaced, biting my tongue. It wasn't exactly a ringing endorsement but I couldn't bring myself to object after repeatedly getting my ass handed to me by a seventeen year old for the better part of an hour. “I'm good at... other things,” I managed finally, but even to my ears it sounded weak.

“Don't mind her,” Elliott said cheerfully as we started making our way upstairs. “She gets grouchy sometimes when she doesn't get enough sleep or when there's eighteen thousand demons loose in the city trying to kill people.”

That earned him a glare from Laurel but she didn't say anything.

“Isabelle's right though,” Hodge said, a pace behind us. “You should get in the habit of wearing them all the time. It's safer.”

That suggestion made me inexplicably uneasy. I knew the shadowhunters were careful to keep their glyphs from fading and I had seen for myself exactly how useful they could be in a fight. But even leaving aside the stinging pain of applying them, putting them on always made me feel deeply uncomfortable, like putting on someone else's uniform that didn't quite fit. I suspected it would grate less, with practice, and the feeling would fade over time but the idea of becoming accustomed to these people's strangely militaristic culture wasn't any less unsettling than the glyphs.

I wasn't about to argue though so I kept walking in silence and followed the others up the stairs and down the hall into the kitchen. Rollo had gone, leaving a large pot of stew simmering on the stove, but there was another shadowhunter sitting at the kitchen table when we arrived. Her head was shaved on one side and there were fresh stitches on a long gash that started at her temple and trailed down behind her ear. That half of her face was one dark bruise, and although the worst of the cuts on her cheek and forehead had started to heal, her eye was still swollen shut.

My stomach twisted as I realized I had seen her before, when she'd been carried into the infirmary, unconscious and looking as though she'd been hit by a train. At the time, I remembered thinking that there was no way she would survive the night, but as we walked in she looked up with a dull expression and said, “About time. It's almost four; I was afraid I'd have to leave without you all.”

“Leave?” I asked.

The woman's one good eye slid over to me, as if noticing me for the first time. “Shift starts in fifteen minutes,” she replied, with a small frown. “Who are you?”

“This is Clary,” Isabelle said, filling a glass of water from the sink. “Clary, Kate.”

Kate nodded once, recognition dawning. “Whitehawk's kid,” she said.

I grit my teeth. “Yup.”

As the others fetched cups of juice or water or just found seats around the kitchen table, I found myself lingering awkwardly by the door. For the last hour, I'd started to feel something like the friendly camaraderie I'd had before Maryse had arrived with reinforcements, but now the illusion was slipping away again.

I swallowed. “What do you mean about the shift?” I asked after a moment. “Where are you guys going?”

“Someone's got to do something about the demons,” Laurel replied shortly. “And it's not like the mundanes are going to manage it.”

“We have three patrols running,” Isabelle explained. “They rotate on four hour shifts – except for the dog watches at four and six. That way there's always someone on the ground.”

She nodded and I followed the direction of her gaze to a sheet of paper posted on the doorframe behind me with a list of names. All things considered, the patrols looked awfully small to be facing demons in the kind of numbers we'd seen the night before...

“What if they attack Blackstone again?”

“It's not likely,” Carmen said. “After the first wave rolled through in China, it spread out pretty quick. I don't think the Filii can actually keep control of that many demons for very long, and most demons prefer meals that can't fight back.”

I suppressed a shiver and went back to reading the list. “My name's not on here,” I said after a moment.

“Of course not,” Laurel said. “You're a civilian.”

I felt my jaw clench.

I remembered the shadowhunter woman confronting Maryse the night before. We don't have the people to fight this... I remembered Maryse's stony reply before she sent Hodge to arm the walking wounded. Of the nine names listed for this patrol, one was a one-eyed woman with skull contusions and one was a seventeen year old child.

But I was a civilian.

“I'm coming,” I said, quietly but firmly.

“It's not safe for you,” Laurel replied.

I turned around, my shoulders set, prepared to launch into an argument but before I could, “She killed two demons last nigh. She might surprise you.”

“There's a lot more than two demons out there,” she snapped. “We all saw her fight – she shouldn't be here!”

I prickled at that. Part of me wanted to say that I'd been here longer than she had, or that I'd survived plenty of demon attacks in the past few days, or that they were in no position to turn away an offer of help. But instead I bit my tongue and looked past her at Hodge, leaning against the counter.

He pursed his lips, considering for a long moment. At last he gave a slight nod and said, “Glyphs first. Then gear up. We leave in ten.”


	3. Chapter 3

I was starting to recognize some of the glyphs by then, but not well enough to carve them from memory so Isabelle helped. I must have been getting used to the process because it hurt less than I remembered. She worked quickly and as soon as she had finished carving the last twisting line I went down to the armoury to fetch a gun. I didn't know what had happened to the one I'd used the night before and although I knew someone had gone to fetch the supplies that Jace and I had abandoned in the hotel room, I hadn't figured out yet where my things had ended up.

When came back upstairs with a holstered pistol, two spare clips of ammunition, and a small combat knife – I might not be all that effective at fighting with one, but if it came down to it I decided I'd rather have the knife than not – I heard Luke's voice from the living room. I hadn't seen him since before the attack, when he was out fighting with the shadowhunters and I was hiding in the basement, but I needed to talk to him. I hurried towards the living room only to stop abruptly in the doorway when I saw he was speaking quietly with Maryse in the entryway.

“Everyone's a bit on edge right now,” he was saying.

“The Accords are always a tense time,” she replied, and I couldn't tell if it was an argument or agreement. “For all of us.”

“A little more this time than usual,” Luke said, with a grim half smile that didn't quite chase away the exhaustion in his expression. “The humans aren't the only ones being hit by these attacks.”

Maryse pursed her lips. “That's why I need you to take a message to the green man. Your people need to know who is responsible for this,” she said thinly. “And they need to know we're doing everything we can to stop it.”

“My people, huh?” Luke snorted. “I'll tell them, but I've got to be honest with you, a lot 'my people' don't see that much of a difference between the Filii and the rest of you. And if anyone with glyphs goes after them, they aren't going to stop and ask who they work for.”

Maryse nodded once, her face drawn and tired. “I understand,” she said. “And I'll make sure everyone at Blackstone understands. The last thing we want is a war with the Downworlders.”

“At least we can agree on that,” Luke said dryly.

Maryse rubbed the bridge of her nose, letting her eyes close for a moment in frustration. “They couldn't have struck at a worse time,” she muttered, and I had to strain to hear her.

“What's the wolf still doing here?” Elliott's voice beside me was quiet but it startled me and I missed whatever Maryse said next.

I turned to glance at him just as Laurel brushed past the both of us, tucking a knife inside her vest.

“Maybe he's coming on patrol with us too,” she said sourly, not quite under her breath.

Elliott flashed a charming smirk. “A dog on a dog watch,” he murmured. “It's appropriate at least.”

I scowled at him and walked over to Luke and Maryse. “I'm sorry to interrupt...”

Maryse looked up sharply. “Clary,” she said, sounding vaguely surprised. Then a flicker of something passed across her face and she added, almost hesitantly, “How is Jace?”

“He's good,” I said quickly. “A lot better, actually – he's awake now.”

She smiled slightly, visibly relieved. “Thank you,” she said quietly. Then she nodded to Luke and walked out of the room.

“How you doing, kid?” Luke asked with a tired grin. “Maryse mentioned you had an exciting night.”

“That's one word for it. Um –” I stepped closer, lowering my voice “– have you heard anything from my mom? Is she okay?”

Luke sighed. “I haven't heard from her, I'm sorry,” he said. “But I'll ask around. I'm headed to the Green Man and there's a good chance someone there knows how to get in touch with her.”

“Thanks,” I said, giving his shoulder an affectionate squeeze.

It was ominously dark outside, though it was still an hour or two before sunset. The sky was heavily overcast but there was no sign or scent of rain and I could see a storm roiling over the city where the rift had opened. The familiar city sounds of crowded traffic and distant sirens were punctuated all too often by shouts of fear and stranger noises that couldn't have come from anything human.

Hodge had ordered everyone to split up but I'd been deemed insufficiently competent to go out unsupervised – not that I was complaining. I kept my hand resting nervously on the butt of my pistol, sweating slightly despite the cold, while Carmen walked brazenly beside me, a silver throwing knife spinning idly around one finger.

No one took any notice of us. Their eyes just slid off us like water as we walked past. That would have been unsettling enough, but the eerie emptiness of the street and the wary expressions on people's faces as they hurried to reach their destinations made me nervous. I understood – I didn't want to be out here any more than they did, but I wanted to be sitting alone back at Blackstone even less.

Something skittered across the ground in front of us, too big and fast to be a rat. Before I had even registered what it was, Carmen's hand flashed up at the corner of my vision and I heard a soft thunk as her throwing knife hit its target. I stared at the grotesque creature, an uncomfortable conglomeration of scales and fur and teeth, for just a heartbeat before it crumpled sharply and vanished.

“You should get your gun out,” Carmen said as she bent to retrieve her knife, its blade stained black with demon blood. “It won't be much use while it's still in its holster.”

Dazedly, I obeyed, unclipping the holster and lifting the gun out, careful to keep the muzzle point squarely at the ground. “What was that?” I breathed.

Carmen shrugged. “Demon,” she said simply. “Pretty young, I'd say. They tend to get bigger and meaner the more times they have to claw their way into our world.”

I frowned. “What do you mean 'the more times'?” I asked uneasily.

“You can't really kill a demon,” she replied. “The best we can do is break their grip on our world and send them home. They'll always make it back eventually, but it usually takes a century or two – no easy roads out of Pandaemonium.” She glanced down at the small splotch of black blood on the ground at her feet. “This one probably only made it through because of the rift.”

“Is it dangerous?”

“It's a demon,” she said again. “They're all dangerous. These guys are just a little easier to kill.”

I saw a flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye and I spun, starting to bring my gun up, only to see a harried looking pedestrian, walking too close to where I was standing because she could see me. I snapped the gun back down to my side and barely made it out of the way in time to stop him from bowling me over.

“Easy there, girl,” said Carmen, as my heart tried to pound through my ribs. “We try not to shoot civilians.”

My hands felt cold and clammy on the pistol grip as we started walking again. I'd almost shot him. I knew all the rules and safe practices for responsible gun ownership, but I'd come within a hairsbreadth of shooting an unarmed man for no reason other than that he had startled me. I had always enjoyed going to the shooting range with my mother, but the amount of time spent shooting at people over the past few days was taking a toll on my nerves.

Readjusting my grip on the gun, I took a deep breath and forced myself to focus on the sidewalk ahead. There was a tired looking woman standing hunched under the eaves of a dingy storefront, smoking a cigarette and watching the street with a bleak expression. A few yards in front of us was a young man in a light jacket walking with brisk determination through the cool evening air. A little further in front of him a man and a woman were walking arm in arm, her high heels clicking loudly against the dry pavement.

As we drew up on the man in the jacket, he glanced back and his eyes met mine for a moment, a rich sea blue colour I'd never seen before. He looked at me – at me, not past me, and in the fraction of a second it took for me to realize what that meant, he was already lunging toward me with hands outstretched.

I lifted my gun but not before he slammed into me, the impact bearing both of us to the ground. I twisted my hips, trying to get leverage to throw him off but his hands were wrapped around my throat and tightening as he snarled down at me, his human facade dripping away to reveal a insectoid face with too many eyes. Black spots were starting to bloom across my vision as I struggled for breath and with a desperate jerk of my arm, I buried the muzzle of the pistol in his abdomen and pulled the trigger.

He staggered back, releasing me and I took in a long gasp of sweet cool air before pushing myself to my knees and taking aim again. As my vision cleared, I saw Carmen taking shape behind him and my eyes focused just in time to see her drive a knife into the back of his neck. I panted, letting my arm fall back to my side as the demon toppled forward an disappeared.

“You okay there, kid?” Carmen said.

I nodded. “Still alive,” I replied, breathing heavily.

She grasped me firmly by the hand and pulled me too my feet in a swift movement. “Listen,” she said, “silver's always your best bet. But if you're using a gun, head and heart will do the most damage.” She tapped her forehead and sternum as she spoke, as if to show me where they were.

I nodded again and we kept walking.

We'd barely gone twenty paces before the next demon turned up. This one wasn't in human form and this time we made the first move – well, Carmen made the first move. Even with the glyphs aiding my speed and reflexes I couldn't quite measure up to two decades of combat experience.

But we dealt with the demon. And the one after that and the one after that.

I didn't know how long we'd been out or how far we'd walked but by the time Carmen said to turn back, my feet were throbbing and my whole body felt bruised. The sun was sinking low on the horizon and the temperature was starting to fall, raising goosebumps along my bare arms. Despite the dark glyphs that lent me some unnatural strength and stamina, I could feel my exhaustion slowly pressing in at the back of my mind, and I had a feeling I would collapse under the weight of it as soon as the marks wore off.

About a block away from Blackstone, a loud yell of pain from the next street over made both of us stop in our tracks. I met Carmen's eyes for half a heartbeat before she started moving at a dead run, away from home and towards the noise. I followed close on her heels, my feet pounding against the asphalt with jarring force.

When we reached the street corner at last and turned down the cross street I saw Elliott pinned to the ground and surrounded three demons, one still standing in human form while the others crouched over his body like skeletal hyenas. He screamed again as one of them bit deep into the meat of his thigh, but the other two looked up at our approach, momentarily forgetting about their prey.

Carmen was still sprinting as she let her first knife fly at the standing demon. It missed him by a hairsbreadth, and before she could throw the second knife, the other demon was charging at her with unearthly speed. Its front claws hit her square in the chest, bearing her to the ground a few yards ahead of me and leaving deep red gashes across her sternum.

My heart pounded fast and deafening as my eyes flickered from Carmen, grappling with one demon, to Elliott, struggling weakly without a weapon while another demon gnawed on his leg, to the man walking menacingly toward me. With barely a thought, I raised by gun, braced it with two hands, squared my shoulders, and took aim at Elliott's demon. I started to squeeze the trigger, stopped - head and heart, Carmen had said – and shifted my aim from the demon's centre of mass to its left temple.

I fired.

The demon's head snapped to the side and it staggered back half a step before collapsing. I whipped the gun up to point at the man, only two yards away now, and fired again. I hadn't had time to aim as carefully so the bullet only caught him in the gut. I fired another round, a little higher but he was already turning away from me and the bullet found his shoulder instead of his chest.

On the ground beside him, Carmen was climbing to her feet with her knife in hand and her opponent reduced to a black stain on the street. Perhaps sensing that it was now outmatched, the last demon started to run sliding from human shape to dog between one step and the next. I tried to shoot it again as it took off but it was moving too fast and as Carmen ran after it I lowered the gun and turned my attention to Elliott.

He had managed to pull himself to an awkward sitting position, but I doubted his leg would bear weight. He caught my eye and cracked a wan smile as I hurried over to him. “Thanks for the assist,” he said in a strained voice. “Good shooting.”

“I know.” I offered him a faint answering smile as I tucked my gun into its holster. “My mom taught me to shoot as soon as I was old enough to hold a gun.”

“Not so useless after all,” he said with a chuckle, then winced.

“I told you.” I tried to match his cheerful tone but it was hard to ignore the pain written on his features, or the bloody mess above his knee. With delicate fingers, I peeled back the torn fabric of his jeans to get a better look. The lacerations were deep but weren't bleeding as much as I would have expected. Then I noticed the odd white tinge to the surrounding flesh and remembered my first real encounter with a demon. “Did it poison you?” I asked quickly.

Elliot let out a pained sound that was part cough, part laugh. “A bit,” he admitted. “But it won't kill me, as long as we can make it back to Blackstone in the next hour or so.”

“Then we'd better get moving.” I crouched low, wrapping his arm over my shoulders and gripping him by the waist to try and lever him to his feet. He was heavier than Jace, and I could feel my muscles straining with exertion, but he at least was awake and within a minute or two I was able to get him standing, though he was still leaning heavily on me for support. I couldn't see where Carmen had gone, but I needed to get Elliott to the infirmary so with awkward, hobbling steps I turned us back towards Blackstone –

And froze when I saw a dark shape in the middle of the sidewalk, like a cat made from black smoke.

Elliott swore. I started to reach for my gun but as soon as I released Elliott's hand I could feel him starting to fall. As I struggled between trying to keep him upright and trying to get a weapon between me and the demon, the smoke congealed into the shape of a little girl, no taller than my hip, looking up at me with big yellow eyes. She smiled sweetly at me and held up her hands in a pacifying gesture.

“I didn't come to fight,” she said in a small clear voice. “I bring a message from the Filii Umbrae.”

I stopped reaching for my gun. I was sure I didn't want to hear her 'message' but even knowing what she was I couldn't quite bring myself to shoot an apparent child who was making no move to attack us.

“Your people feed you only lies, but the brotherhood offers truth,” she went on, her childish voice a jarring contrast to the theme of her words. “Our blood is your blood; it gives you strength.”

“Your 'truth' smells an awful lot like bullshit to me,” Elliott muttered, his voice weak but adamant.

And there it was, the great lie the shadowhunters had built themselves on top of. I felt my stomach twist and I bit my tongue, careful not to look at Elliott because I didn't want to have to lie.

“Join us,” she continued. “We will fight with you against the true enemy, against the vermin below -”

A gunshot rang out and the girl fell to the ground, crumpling quickly into nothing.

I looked up to see Hodge crossing the street towards us, gun in hand. “You don't talk to demons,” he said gruffly as he he caught up to us, taking Elliot's other arm. “You just kill them.”

  


Dinner was being served when we got back to the house, and the warm, rich scent of the stew hit me as soon as we walked through the door. I hadn't realized how hungry I was. As Hodge and one of the medics ushered Elliott down to the infirmary I made a beeline for the kitchen.

It was crowded with shadowhunters and the low hum of conversation grated slightly against my ears. I couldn't tell whether that was a result of exhaustion, my heightened senses, or simply because I didn't know any of these people, but whatever the reason, once I had found a bowl of soup I resolved to find somewhere quieter to eat.

My first choice would have been the study, but since Maryse and the others had returned the study doors were closed more often than not for various strategic meetings and clandestine conversations. I could go down to the infirmary but after what happened to Elliott I had a feeling it would be pretty crowded as well, and the thought of talking to Jace again left me with an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach.

In the end I simply found an empty spot of floor in the corner of the living room, out of the way and as removed as I could get from the rest of the shadowhunters. I hadn't had anything to eat since the first wave of demons had hit us the night before and I wolfed down the stew like a starving dog. As I was scraping the last remnants from the bowl, I noticed a pair of boots striding towards me and I looked up sharply.

Alec looked almost as tired as I felt, though I was relieved to note he didn't have any apparent injuries – which put him in the minority, unfortunately. He crouched so that his head was level with mine and gave me a slight nod. “Clary,” he said. “How are you holding up?”

“I'm alive,” I replied. “I'm doing better than some people.” There wasn't much else I could say that wouldn't have felt like an exaggeration. I chewed on my lip for a second before adding, “Have you been to see Jace?”

Alec nodded. “I talked to him a few hours ago, when I got back from patrol.”

“How did that go?”

Alec took a long deep breath, weighing his words before answering. “It's been a rough few days,” he said stiffly. “For all of us. But I think he'll be fine.”

“If he doesn't keep charging into battle headfirst,” I muttered, glowering into my empty bowl. For fuck's sake, he hadn't even stopped to put on shoes.

“He'll be fine,” Alec repeated, more firmly.

“I'm sure you're right,” I said quietly, setting the bowl down on the floor beside me. I felt sure there was more he wanted to say, just perhaps not to me.

“I wanted to talk to you,” Alec said, reaching into his back pocket. “A call came for you, from The Green Man. They didn't leave a name, just a number.”

He passed me a carefully folded piece of notepaper that contained only my name and ten digits written in neat block letters. I didn't recognize the number but it had to be my mother; no one else had any reason to try to contact me.

I looked it over eagerly, but then a realization struck me and I let out a small huff. “I don't suppose they left a phone to go with the number?” I muttered with weak attempt at good humour. “Whitehawk never gave mine back.”

Alec gave me a sympathetic look and said, “I'll see what I can find.”

I drummed my fingers nervously on my leg as I watched him go and found myself wishing, not for the first time, that his carefully bland expression were just a little easier to read. He has been adamant that Jace was fine, or would be, but somehow I felt sure there had been a note of worry in his words. Or maybe I was just projecting.

For a long few minutes I just stared down at the empty bowl on the floor and tried to ignore the niggling anxiety in my chest. Then I sighed, levered myself painfully to my feet, and went down to the infirmary.

I noticed Elliot on a cot by the door, a medic wrapping a long bandage around his thigh. He waved as I walked in and I smiled back, but as I scanned the rest of the room, I couldn't see Jace. I frowned and made my way to the bed I thought had been his but it was empty and there was no indication of where he might be. He'd been in good shape when I left and Alec had spoken to him not long ago, but my chest tightened and I couldn't stop my eyes from flickering to the far end of the room where I'd seen the sheet-draped body the night before.

When I didn't see anything there, I turned and caught one of the medics by the arm as he walked past. “Where's Jace?” I asked. “He was in this bed this morning.”

The medic shrugged. “He left.”

I stared at him for a second. “What do you mean 'he left'?” I said, more sharply than I'd meant to. “This morning he could barely sit up and you just let him walk out of here to do god knows what?”

He looked back at me blankly. “I'm a paramedic, not a gaoler,” he replied with an edge of irritation in his tone. “I just stitch people up. Besides, we're too busy to have people here that don't need to be.”

I wasn't sure if that last remark had been directed more at Jace or at me, but I took the hint and left. I made my way upstairs and hesitated when I reached Jace's room. I waited there a long moment, debating if I should just keep walking before I finally knocked twice and cracked the door open, poking my head inside.

Jace was sitting up on his bed, a comic book lying open in his lap. Without looking up from his reading, he muttered, “If you don't wait for an invitation it defeats the purpose of knocking.

“Sorry,” I said quickly, frowning. “I can go.”

That did make him look up, and I thought he looked almost surprised to see me. “You don't have to,” he said as I started to pull back. “I mean, I don't mind.”

I paused, and after a moments thought I slipped quietly into the room, closing the door behind me. There was a brief silence, and then I said, “I was worried when I didn't see you in the infirmary.”

He looked back at me blankly. “Why?”

I shrugged, leaning back against the door. “I don't know,” I replied, “I thought you might have gone looking for another fight?”

He was quiet a moment, then he just scowled and said, “Well, I didn't; I'm here.”

“I can see that,” I muttered. I took a deep breath. “How are you feeling?”

It was his turn to shrug. “I'm fine,” he said.

“You're looking better,” I told him. And he was. The welts on his arms had faded substantially, and he looked less pale than he had the last time I saw him. Even the bruises on his face and neck seemed smaller than before.

“Shadowhunters heal fast,” he said simply. “I'll heal faster once I'm allowed to use glyphs again.”

“When'll that be?”

“Another day, probably,” he said.

I nodded once my eyes still tracing the faint curling lines on his arms. This must be what happened when you took on too many glyphs at once, the big advantage the Filii had over the rest of them. And he had done it to himself to make sure he got my mother home in one piece.

“Listen.” I swallowed. “I never really thanked you – for going back on that boat for me, for saving my mom. So, you know, thanks.”

I could see his mind working behind those icy blue eyes for just a moment before he looked away. He was quiet for a long time, and I was starting to wonder if I should change the topic when he finally said, “I killed Lydia.”

Silence fell heavily as whatever I'd been planning to say died on my tongue. “I'm sorry,” I murmured instead.

He looked at me sharply, narrowing his eyes, then looked away again. “She killed my father,” he said.

I stared back at him, reaching for the right words to say and coming up woefully short. 'I know' definitely seemed like the wrong answer, but I didn't know how else to respond. At last, I simply said, “Are you okay?”

He snorted. “Yeah,” he replied, with a disturbingly cheerful detachment that told me he definitely wasn't, or not entirely. He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers slowly, and said, “I used to think about her a lot. About when she shot my dad, or what might have happened if I'd done something instead of just hiding, or what would happen if I ever saw her again... But when I did it, I wasn't even thinking about her. The only thing going through my head was that she was going to kill your mom.”

He let his eyes close as he spoke and it seemed like a weight had settled on his shoulders, making him shrink.

I watched him and waited, and when it became evident he was done talking, I bit my lip and said carefully, “I'm glad you both made it out of there.”

He looked up at me with a faint expression that might have been a smile. “Yeah,” he said again, in a small voice.

I met his eyes for a few long heartbeats, then I shook my head. “You look exhausted,” I muttered. “I should really let you rest.”

He didn't answer, but as I turned to go he said, “Did you mean what you said in the motel room?”

I froze, my fingers hovering on the doorknob, trying to think of which part he was talking about. A lot had happened in that conversation...

“It really doesn't bother you?” he went on. “All the stuff I've done?”

I took a deep breath as I looked back at him over my shoulder. “I meant all of it,” I said quietly, and slipped out the door without waiting for a reply.


	4. Chapter 4

I started awake at the sound of my bedroom door clicking shut, and in the darkness it took me several minutes to register where I was. I squinted at the alarm clock on the dresser and saw it was nearly midnight, which meant I'd been asleep for less than two hours, and they had been anything but restful. I didn't exactly remember what I'd been dreaming about but it had left me tense and frightened, with adrenaline pumping through my veins. The room felt cold but my clothes were damp with sweat, clinging to my skin, and my heart was racing.

Closing my eyes, I forced myself to take long deep breaths, until my pulse began to slow. I was starting to sink back into unconsciousness when the math my sleep-addled brain had been struggling with finally clicked into place. I'd gone on Isabelle's dog watch patrol from four to six which meant the our next patrol would start – I looked up at the alarm clock, and saw the glowing numbers showed twelve oh seven.

I swore under my breath and scrambled up and out of bed, blind fingers reaching along the dark floor trying to find my street clothes. It must have been Isabelle leaving that woke me, and as I struggled into my jeans I was torn between my desperate desire to not be awake and my discomfort at the idea that Isabelle hadn't bothered to wake me before she left.

As soon as I was dressed, I hurried downstairs but Isabelle and the others had already cleared out. I let out a long huff as I looked at the front door and slumped against the wall. I couldn't pretend I wanted to be out fighting demons again – I was still exhausted from the short patrol a few hours ago and I wasn't even sure I was fully awake yet – but I felt like a coward for being here while everyone else was going out and risking their lives to keep people safe.

Still dizzy with sleep, I stumbled into the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water. As I sipped at it slowly, hoping the cold would help to shock me awake, I dug in the pocket of my jeans for the little prepaid cellphone Alec had found for me. It was a blocky flip-phone, practically an antique, but it wasn't like I needed it to play music or solitaire, and as long as I could send texts I was happy.

I opened the phone and started clicking through the options to see if a new message had come in while I was asleep.

> mom? its clary

> What's your middle name?

It wasn't exactly the warm greeting I might have hoped for but I couldn't exactly begrudge her the paranoia about the shadowhunters, especially if they really had a Filii mole somewhere in their ranks.

> adele

> are you ok? demon trouble?

I closed the phone, only to open it again and navigate back to the messaging function, praying I remembered Simon's number correctly.

> hey

> hope you made it home safe. let me know.

> i miss you.

I tucked the phone back into my pocket with a sigh of frustration. I'd forgotten how inefficient texting was before smart phones. I downed the last gulp of water, rinsed the glass, and made to walk out of the kitchen, only to stop in the doorway and frown at the posted patrol schedule.

Someone – and I had a pretty good idea who it was – had scrawled Jace's name under the patrol for eight o'clock that evening. I scowled down at the innocuous scrap of paper for a minute or two before stalking down the hall to Jace's bedroom. I glowered at the bedroom door, debating whether or not to knock. It probably wasn't fair to wake him up in the middle of the night when there would almost certainly be time to argue with him in the morning, but then it occurred to me that he couldn't use glyphs yet, which meant he probably wasn't asleep. .

I knocked once, gently, and pressed my ear to the door but heard only silence on the other side. I was about to try knocking again when I remembered the last time I'd found Jace unable to sleep, and I turned away from the door to tip toe downstairs to the training room.

My hunch proved to be correct. As soon as I poked my head through the doorway I could see Jace standing near the centre of the room with his back to me, a small pile of throwing knives on the mat by his feet. I lingered in the doorway for a moment without saying anything, just watching as he worked his way through the throwing knives.

He seemed to be moving more slowly than usual and I could tell his aim was off. Belatedly, I realized he was throwing with his left hand, no doubt because the right side of his neck and shoulder was still held together with little more than surgical thread and prayer. But even injured and without his glyphs, there was a studied fluidity to his movements that was beautiful to watch.

At last he reached the end of the pile and walked stiffly to the target on the wall to collect the knives. As he turned back his eyes landed on me for the first time and he froze. I was pretty sure that was the first time I'd actually managed to sneak up on him.

“Hey,” I said.

He nodded once, then, after a brief pause where I thought he might say something, he only shook his head and returned with the throwing knives to his place in the centre of the room.

I shrugged and stepped inside, making my way to the shelf with the practice knives. As Jace started throwing again, I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye and pursed my lips. “Are you sure it's a good idea for you to be up and about?” I asked. He did look better than he had in the infirmary but that still left a long way to go before I'd believe he was in fighting shape.

“I'm fine,” he said, without a pause in his rhythm. I was really starting to hate that word. “It doesn't hurt that much.”

I fetched one of the rubber knives down from the shelf and frowned as I twisted it between my fingers. I chewed on my lip, then without looking up I said quietly, “That's just because the target doesn't fight back.”

That did make him pause and he turned to look at me over his shoulder, wincing slightly as the movement tugged at the wound on his neck. “What?”

I sighed, setting the knife down. “You put your name down on the patrol schedule,” I said, meeting his eyes squarely. I hesitated, then added, “I don't think you're up for it.”

His expression hardened. “It's not up to you,” he snapped, turning his attention back to the target.

“Well, what did the medic say?” I asked. The welts might be fading but they were far from gone and I wasn't convinced Jace would be able to manage the standard set of glyphs by the time he meant to go out on patrol.

“I didn't ask,” Jace muttered. He seemed to be throwing the knives with more force than he had been when I arrived.

I set my jaw. “Did you ask Maryse?”

He didn't seem to have a ready answer for that. After a brief pause, he said “It's war, Clary. I'm not the only one who visited the infirmary. Do you see any one else just sitting on the sidelines?”

I thought of Kate with the gash on her skull and her swollen eye, of Elliott with bite marks on his leg and a mild case of poisoning, and had to admit begrudgingly that Jace might have a bit of a point. I scowled and picked up the practice knife again, making my way onto one of the empty mats.

“Fine,” I said, adjusting my grip on the knife to hold it the way Carmen had showed me. “You signed up for the eight PM shift, right? That's Isabelle's shift. We can all go together.”

A loud clatter caught my attention and I looked up to see one of Jace's knives skittering across the floor toward the wall. Jace had turned to look at me, apparently in mid-throw. “What?” he asked, with more surprise than venom in his tone.

“I went out on Isabelle's last patrol,” I said. “I'd be out there now, only...” I paused, not wanting to admit that I'd missed it because I slept in.

Thankfully Jace cut me off before I felt obliged to finish the sentence. “No,” he told me, shaking his head. “You're a civilian – you have no idea what you're doing.”

I stared at him for a moment, stunned. I'd gotten variations on that attitude from just about everyone I'd spoken to over the past few hours but I hadn't expected it from him, not after we'd fought together to rescue my mother and get the cup away from Whitehawk, after I'd saved his life at least twice. “It's not up to you,” I shot back, not quite able to keep the rising anger from my tone.

He gave a vicious snort. “You're so fucking out of your depth,” he muttered. “You're going to get yourself killed.”

“This isn't my first time going up against demons,” I snapped. “And from where I'm standing, I look a damn sight better than you right now!”

“But it's not just demons is it? You've got Filii coming after you, too,” he snarled. “What kind of odds do you think you stand against one of them?”

I opened my mouth to reply but before I could say anything, Jace's right arm lashed out and something went flying past my head, so close I could feel the breeze in its wake. “What the fuck, Jace!” I yelled.

“Dead,” he shot back bluntly. “Do you think Lydia would have missed?”

The bandage on his neck was slowly staining red. He'd probably torn a stitch using that arm but he was already reaching for another knife and I had to duck quickly as he flung it at me.

I threw my own knife back at him with more force than accuracy. It missed his head by several inches but it distracted him long enough for me to charge forward and slam my shoulder into his stomach.

The blow didn't manage to send him to the ground, thankfully perhaps, but it drove the air from his lungs and knocked him back a step. He recovered his feet quickly, but he was still struggling for breath as he swiped clumsily at me with his last knife.

I caught his arm with both hands, swatting it heavily aside, and as the knife fell from his hands, I struck out without thinking and punched him in the jaw. I recoiled immediately, hugging my throbbing hand to my chest and staring horrified at Jace as he staggered back, rubbing his chin.

“I'm so sorry,” I gasped. “Are you okay?”

The bandage on his neck was soaked through now, and his forehead was damp with sweat, but he looked mostly unhurt. He just looked back at me with an expression I couldn't quite decipher and said, “I'm fine.”

“You're bleeding,” I murmured.

He blinked and touched his fingers to his neck, as if he had only just noticed that the wound had reopened.

I should have been angry with him, but as much as I wanted yell at him and shake some sense into him, I wanted to kick myself for hurting him when he was already injured. I ran to the stack of towels by the wall and brought one over to Jace, pressing it gently against his neck. As he took it from me to hold it in place, his hand brushed against mine and I drew away self consciously.

“I'm sorry,” I said again, more quietly. Then, “Don't throw stuff at me any more. I was kind of getting used to being on the same side.”

He looked down at me curiously, frowning slightly, then, with the barest hint of a smile, he gave a small nod and said, “Okay.”

I was vaguely aware that I was still standing too close to him, but I realized I didn't want to step back. He was so closed off most of the time and it was a rare thing for him to let me in. I felt like I ought to say something but before I got the chance, I saw Jace's eyes widen slightly and he took a step away from me, his back straightening.

I turned to follow his gaze and saw Maryse standing in the doorway. She looked almost worse than Jace and I found myself wondering if she had slept at all in the last twenty four hours.

“Clary,” she said, her voice weighed down with weariness. “I hoped you might still be up -” She broke off as her eyes slid past me to Jace and settled on the bloody towel pressed against his neck. “Jace, what happened? Are you alright?”

“I'm fine,” he said quickly and I rolled my eyes.

“Go to the infirmary and get it checked out,” Maryse ordered.

Jace didn't answer but did as she asked. I watched him go with mixed feelings and an inexplicable frustration at Maryse for sending him away.

When he disappeared out of the room, she turned her attention back to me and sighed heavily. “I need you to get a message to your mother,” she said, lowering her voice. “It's important that I speak with her, and as soon as possible.”

I frowned. “Sure,” I said. “But I don't know if she'll agree; she's not too keen on Central Authority.”

Maryse shook her head. “Not Central Authority, just me.” She let out a breath. “I have questions and she owes me a few answers.”

“Sure,” I said again, and pulled out the phone, my thumb moving awkwardly over the number pad.

> maryse wants to meet asap. time and place?

“Sent,” I muttered, closing the phone and tucking it back into my pocket. “I don't know how long it will take her to respond, but I'll let you know as soon as I have an answer.”

She gave me a nod of thanks and turned to go.

“Maryse?” I said quickly, then hesitated as she looked back at me.

“Yes?” The word sounded clipped but it was hard to say if it was actual impatience or just sleep deprivation.

I swallowed. “Something weird happened on the patrol today,” I said slowly. “When we were coming back, me and Elliott... there was this demon but it didn't attack us – it was like it was trying to recruit us. Like some kind of Jehovah's Witness, but small and evil and creepy...”

Maryse looked back at me, her expression blank beyond a slight tightening of her lips. “What did it say,” she asked quietly.

“The standard Filii line, I guess,” I replied, shrugging. “That shadowhunters are part demon and we should all side with them against the downworlders.”

Maryse grimaced but the news didn't seem to have caught her totally by surprise. “You're not the only one,” she said. “A few of the other patrols reported the same thing.”

I frowned. “They can't honestly think that'll convince people to switch sides, though.”

“Maybe not,” Maryse said. “But they don't have to convince any to change sides, just to change targets, and I know more than a few of my people would jump at any excuse to take the fight to the downworlders.”

“Is it really that bad?” I asked, my stomach twisting.

“Not yet. But in a few weeks, after we've lost a few more people -” She cut herself off, her jaw clenching. “We need to win this fight, and quickly. I just hope Rhiannon can tell us how.”


	5. Chapter 5

The meeting was set for noon, at Luke's book shop. Maryse drove while I sat in the passenger seat, restlessly drumming my fingers on my leg. I wasn't entirely convinced Maryse was in shape to drive since I was pretty sure she'd gotten less than four hours of sleep in the last forty-eight hours – she'd certainly gotten less than me, and I felt like a zombie – but she seemed to be driving safely, if a little slower than the other cars. It probably helped that the roads were far less crowded than usual on account of... well, everything.

The car ride was uncomfortably quiet. Although I had spent more time with Maryse than any of the other shadowhunters except Jace, Alec, and Isabelle, I still felt like striking up an innocuous conversation was beyond me. I'd cried onto her shoulder and waited with her while she watched the medics work on Jace, but here and now I couldn't think of a damn thing to say, even as I felt the silence prickling against my skin.

Simon would have just bowled through the awkwardness without so much as an acknowledgement and they'd probably have been swapping life stories within seconds. But he wasn't here.

He still hadn't replied to my text. I hoped that was just a sign that my memory for phone numbers was predictably shaky, and not a sign that anything had happened to him, but when I thought of the creatures Carmen and I had encountered the night before, I couldn't help wondering.

It was a relief when we finally pulled up in front of Luke's familiar building. The sign on the bookshop door read 'Closed' and I could see at least one window had been smashed and taped over with a clear tarpaulin, but it still felt more welcoming to me than Blackstone ever had.

I glanced at Maryse over my shoulder as I got out of the car, then walked to the door and went through without waiting for her. The bell above the door jingled softly as I stepped inside and strode down between the first pair of dimly lit bookshelves to the high counter at the back of the shop with the old fashioned cash register and the expensive, limited-edition, leather-bound volumes.

The bell sounded again as Maryse entered behind me but all of my attention was on Luke and my mother, standing by the counter and talking quietly over cups of tea.

I was struck by how disconcertingly different my mother seemed. Luke looked very much as he always did, but there was an odd energy to my mother that was nothing like the woman I knew. She looked more tired than I'd ever seen her but she seemed to stand taller. Beneath the dark glyphs that covered her arms and neck, there was a visible tension in her lean muscles and I could feel a wary readiness about her, like a wild animal ready to pounce or flee at a moment's notice. I could almost see the echoes of the woman in Maryse's photographs, wild and uninhibited, her head thrown back in laughter.

They looked up as I approached and my mother smiled at me, the familiar warmth of her expression shattering the illusion.

I hurried over to her and wrapped my arms around her shoulders. She responded in kind, crushing me against her and pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “It's good to see you, chicken,” she murmured.

I pulled away, smiling. “And for once neither of us is captured or bleeding out.” As the words slipped out, my eyes flicked down to the bullet wound on her right shoulder. It was hidden beneath a fresh white bandage but it looked clean and my mother didn't seem to be in particular pain which I took as a generally good sign.

She squeezed my arm reassuringly. “How's Jace,” she asked after a moment. “He was in rough shape the last time I saw him.”

I grimaced slightly, wondering how best to answer that. “He's still kicking,” I managed finally. “I mean, you know how he is. Tough as a mule and twice as stubborn.”

“That sounds about right,” she muttered. Then her smile faded and her eyes slid past me to Maryse, standing a short ways behind.

Her expression was bland as ever but her lips were tight and she had stopped just far enough away that the distance felt uncomfortable.

“Rhiannon.”

I still couldn't quite get used to that name, but my mother seemed entirely unfazed. “Maryse,” she replied, with a slight nod.

The words fell from their lips like lead, weighed down by twenty years of old wounds and unvoiced questions.

After several seconds of charged silence, my mother said, “You called this meeting. What do you want?”

“Information,” Maryse replied, her tone unerringly professional. “Luke's been a big help, but you know Whitehawk better than anyone.”

“I don't,” my mother said coolly, cutting her off. “I doubt it was even true when we were married, so if you're hoping I have some magical insight to offer, I don't.”

Maryse's lips thinned slightly. “Be that as it may, you've been in his... custody for more than a week. You've seen the inside of his operations.” She looked away for a moment, swallowed, and went on quietly, “We had a mole in Central Authority.”

“I though you caught the guy,” I said, frowning, but even as I said the words my sleep deprived brain was struggling to remember who had told me that.

“We did,” Maryse replied, her voice strained. “But not before he got at least twenty of my people killed. And unfortunately, he died during interrogation before giving us any other names.”

My mother raised an accusatory eyebrow. “'Died during interrogation'?” she asked coolly.

Maryse looked back at her, unflinching. “It's a new Filii trick, a sort of 'L-pill' in glyph form,” she said, a faint tinge of disgust in her tone. “I didn't see it myself but apparently it reacts to truth glyphs by burning a hole through your chest.”

“Well, there's no doubting their commitment to the cause,” Luke muttered, taking a sip of tea.

“I need to know if he was working alone,” Maryse went on, her voice sharp. “And if there are others, I need to find out who they are before they knock our legs out from under us.”

My mother pursed her lips, eyeing Maryse with a considering expression, then sighed. “I don't have names,” she said. “But I know there was more than one. At least one in Central Authority, and one higher up – a politician, I think.”

Maryse didn't look surprised, but the words seemed to hit her like a blow to the chest all the same. “Anyone else?” she said quietly.

A brief hesitation then, “I can't be sure but I think they had a source in the city, too.”

That did catch her by surprise. “One of mine?” she asked.

My mother shrugged unhappily. “Maybe.”

“Dammit.” Maryse closed her eyes, rubbing her forehead. “We're being overrun,” she muttered after a moment. “Filii, traitors, and now this bloody rift. We can't even figure out how they opened it.”

“At a guess, I'd say they used a very sharp knife,” my mother said.

Maryse looked up sharply with the first flash of real anger I'd seen on her features, but before she could say anything my mother went on.

“Aside from the demon blood, Jo's other research topic was the divine artifacts,” she explained. “And supposedly Azrael's sword is sharp enough to cut through anything.”

As all three of us stared at her in confusion, she frowned and said, “Jace said he found the sword on Jo's boat. Didn't he tell you?”

Both Maryse and Luke looked stunned, but I hadn't understood enough of what she said to have much of a reaction so I said, “It's been a rough day and a half, and Jace hasn't been in shape to talk for too much of it.”

I saw a look of concern cross my mother's features but Maryse spoke before she could. “Then how do we close it?” she asked urgently

“I don't know,” my mother replied. “I'm just guessing at all of this – I wasn't there when they did it.”

“Still,” Maryse pressed, “assuming you're right you must have some idea of what to do?”

My mother snorted. “I'm an expert in my fair share of fields but this isn't one of them,” she said with grim humour. “I'd tell you to talk to Bane but frankly I doubt he's interested in your business.” She glanced to Luke as if for confirmation.

He shrugged. “I can ask, “ he said. “But I'm running low on favours I can call in.”

“Right.” My mother nodded. “So unless the warlock is feeling particularly generous, your best bet is to dig up Jo's old research and see what it says, assuming you didn't burn it with the rest.”

“We didn't burn any of it.”

“No.” My mother's voice was calm and quiet but I could hear the faint tinge of bitterness in the single blunt syllable. “You just locked it away so that no one would ever read what we wrote.”

Maryse looked away for a moment, then, “I've read your research. I read it twenty years ago, before it was restricted.”

My mother stared at her, and even Luke seemed somewhat taken aback. “Then you know it's true,” she said quietly. Her expression remained neutral but her face was pale with anger. “You called it a quack theory.”

“I said it was dangerous,” Maryse replied sharply. “And it is.”

“It's the truth!” my mother snapped. “If the truth scares you, then maybe it's time you take a step back and really think about why.”

“I don't have to,” Maryse said. “We all saw what happened the first time the Filii started spouting their 'truth' and I refuse to let it happen again now.”

“So you're just going to keep lying to them?”

“If I have to.” Maryse's voice and expression were hard. “My people are tired and demoralized. They just got back from fighting one war and we're asking them to fight another here, and the only thing that's sustaining them is the belief – the knowledge! – that this fight is in their blood. I won't to anything to risk taking that away from them.”

My mother looked back at her for a long moment, her lips tight. “Then what's sustaining you?” she asked finally.

“It's never been about that for me,” she replied quietly. “Angel, demon – it's the human part that matters. And our humanity obliges us to protect people, if we can.”


End file.
